


On this dark side of the mirror

by sistabro



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Episode: s05e22 Swan Song, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-01
Updated: 2010-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-11 10:12:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sistabro/pseuds/sistabro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've never lied to you, Sam, I really do want you to be happy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	On this dark side of the mirror

**Author's Note:**

> This is the same story told in reverse as **On this bright side of the mirror** ([DW](http://sistabro.dreamwidth.org/16431.html), [LJ](http://sistabro.livejournal.com/19260.html), [AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/111278))—which should be read first if you haven't already because this version ruins the ending for that one (duh). I'm posting this mostly because it amuses me, but also because I was curious to see if the story worked in chronological order. I think it does, more or less, though it has a great deal less impact. Prompt and other bit of inspiration (not a prompt per se, but part of the request) at the end of the story.

In the beginning, Sam says, "Yes."

::::

This time, the mirror is unbroken.

"Good morning, Sam," says the devil.

Sam doesn't answer. He's learned that not responding is usually the less agonizing route in these little chats they have.

"Tsk, where are your manners, Sam? That's all right, though. I have a present for you anyways."

The body shifts, just a few inches, enough to reveal a dark corner of the room in the mirror. In it stands a cloaked figure. It's ridiculously melodramatic, but that doesn't stop Sam from being afraid.

The body lifts a hand in a careless gesture and the figure glides forward until it is just a step behind and to the left of them. Hands covered in black swirls and sigils push the hood back to reveal a delicate face covered in the same.

"A djinn," Sam gasps, startled out of his silence.

"A djinn," Lucifer confirms. "I've never lied to you, Sam. I really do want you to be happy. This way has the added benefit of keeping you quiet. You can be rather noisy sometimes, Sam, like a fly buzzing around my ear, and I just can't afford any distractions in the coming days. Besides, I doubt you'll enjoy the upcoming battle very much. A little bird told me that Dean managed to convince Michael to take him as a vessel instead of your little brother. You've watched your brother die enough times already, and I know how hard that's been on you. This will spare you from seeing it again. Consider it an act of mercy."

"Fuck your mercy," Sam says, trying very hard not to think of Dean run through with a sword of light. "It won't work, anyways. I'll figure it out, shove a knife in my gut and be back to yelling at you within hours. We've run into djinn before. I know how they work, what to look for."

The devil laughs, flashing dimples and teeth, and the combination of amusement and dread running through the body is jarring.

"Oh, Sam. The djinn you and your brother ran into was just looking for a meal. What your brother experienced was the equivalent of a club to the head: just enough power to keep Dean under for a few days, nothing more. The djinn are capable of a great deal more finesse than that when properly motivated, and I am very good at motivation."

"I'll still—"

"Remember me? Remember saying yes and be able to use that to figure it all out? But you won't, Sam. You could never be happy with that weighing on you. You're too in love with your own guilt. You would have made an excellent Catholic actually. Anyways, I'll be removing those memories before the djinn does her thing to give her a slightly cleaner slate to work with. You'll never know I was here."

Lucifer smiles then, soft and gentle and mocking. Sam tries to protest, to beg, to bargain so his brother won't have to fight the upcoming battle alone, but the gag has been replaced. The devil always has to have the last word.

"Goodbye, Sam. Have a nice life."

::::

Sam is floating in a cage of bright white light, a bubble made of lightning. He's terrified. For an instant, he even knows why. Then the pain comes, sharp and tearing. When it fades, the terror still remains, but he doesn't remember what he's afraid of anymore. He thinks that's the most frightening thing of all.

The light changes then, white to blue, and everything fades to black oblivion.

::::

Sam wakes abruptly from a nightmare full of light and fear. He doesn't move, just breaths slow and measured, waits for his heart rate to return to normal.

Robins are singing outside and Bobby is puttering around in the kitchen downstairs. Across the room, Dean snorts and rolls over, lips smacking noisily.

It's all so pedestrian, so normal. He may never have another morning like it. Today they're hunting the devil. Today, maybe, he'll say yes.

He lays there, eyes closed, just listening, savoring, until the pressure in his bladder becomes urgent. Sam opens his eyes, then, and turns towards Dean, who is watching him, has been for the past ten minutes or so.

They stare at each other in silence. It feels like there should be a moment or something, but there aren't any words to make this right. If all goes to plan, in a few hours Sam is going to commit suicide, commit himself willingly to Hell, and break his brother beyond repair in the process. If all goes to shit, if he is too weak, then the world will burn and Dean will die. Either way, today will probably be the last day he and Dean spend together.

Sam looks away, afraid Dean will see how close to the edge he is, and shuffles off to the bathroom to piss.

He's washing his hands when he hears the floorboards creak as Dean passes by on the way downstairs. Suddenly he can't breathe. The white noise of the running water almost covers up the sound of Sam puking last night's dinner into the toilet.

When he makes it to the kitchen fifteen minutes later, there is a cup of coffee waiting for him and a plate of toast. Sam would say thank you, but if he looks at his brother right now, he might start crying and no one wants that.

"Well, shit," Bobby says suddenly, laying down the newspaper he'd been reading.

"What?" Dean asks, toast crumbs spilling out of the corner of his mouth.

"I think we lost the devil."

Sam nearly drops his coffee. "What?"

Bobby points to an article and Sam and Dean crowd behind him to read. It's about Detroit. Apparently the weather has returned to normal. No more freak five-block temperature drop.

Sam reads it through three times, just to be sure. His stomach flip flops unhappily and he swallows down bile. "This makes no sense."

"Sure it does," Bobby says. "It means he's not there anymore. We'll have to look for other signs, see where he's moved on to."

"But that's just it," Sam says, frowning at the table. "He wouldn't have moved. He's been saying all along that it's going to happen in Detroit. He would…he would wait for me."

"Sam's right," Dean says. "Lucifer's too fucking proud to let it go down anywhere else. The only way he would leave Detroit without Sam is if something forced him to. And I'm thinking if that had happened, we'd be reading about Detroit turning into a blast crater and not the end of some freaky weather."

Dean finishes off his coffee in one long swallow and sets the empty mug next to his abandoned toast. "I'm gonna go wake up Cas, see if he's got any thoughts."

Sam starts to rise, intending to go find his laptop, when Dean points a finger at him. "Sit down and eat your breakfast, Sam. You hardly ate anything last night and don't think I didn't hear you this morning. You can research after we talk to Cas."

Sam sits back down and picks up his toast. Dean may have acknowledged that Sam is an adult, but the habits of a lifetime are going to take a while to change. Mostly, though, Sam finds it familiar and reassuring, being hen pecked by Dean, and he'll take comfort wherever he can find it these days, even if it stings his pride.

Sam's halfway through his second slice when Dean comes racing back into the kitchen, panting and wild eyed.

"Cas is gone."

::::

They spend almost two months searching.

The first few days, they search mostly for Castiel. But the house and junkyard can only be gone over so many times before even Dean has to concede that there is nothing to be found. There are no signs, no clues, just a dent in the sheets where a body once slept and a ratty trench coat draped over a chair.

They switch tracks then, start looking for the devil but quickly segue into searching for the apocalypse instead, once becomes apparent that all the omens seem to have vanished the same day Castiel did. It's three weeks of musty pages and interviews and squinting at the backlit text on computer screens before Bobby throws down a book in disgust and declares the apocalypse a dud.

Dean takes that as permission to pretend the whole mess never happened. He shuts down any attempt Sam makes to bring up Michael, Lucifer, or Cas, walks out of the room anytime Sam and Bobby start musing over what could have happened. It's frustrating as all hell, but Sam knows Dean is grieving. They both are. Despite a rocky beginning, in the end, Cas was a friend. They may not know what happened exactly, but his absence feels permanent, feels like death.

Dean, typically, decides to deal by hunting, and sends them after the first plausible lead that turns up. It doesn't pan out, nor does the lead after that, nor the lead after that. They scour the internet, local papers, tabloids, have Bobby ask the other hunters that are still on speaking terms with him if they have spotted anything. They search high and low for any sign of the supernatural—ghosts, monsters, curses, gods and myths. They find nothing.

Sam keeps searching anyway and waits for the other shoe to drop.

::::

Dean's pie smells heavenly, strawberry peach with melting vanilla ice cream on top. Sam would steal a bite, but he likes having all his fingers. Dean's been tetchy of late, bored most likely.

There hasn't been a lead worth chasing down in months, despite Sam's best efforts, so they've been playing tourist instead. No stress, no obligations, no angels, no demons, no monsters, no ghosts, just them, driving around because they want to. It's been good, really good, exactly what they both needed to start being brothers again, prank wars and all.

Dean doesn't do well without a goal, though, and today marks the end of his brother's latest quest: visiting every town in the U.S. named Winchester.

Sam looks up from his laptop, currently displaying the city website for Winchester, Tennessee, and asks, "So, where to next?"

Dean pokes at his pie and doesn't look up. "Actually, I was thinking we might stay."

"Um, okay," Sam says and clicks on the Things to Do link on the site. "The lake here is supposed to have good bass fishing if you want to try that for a few days. Or did you have something else in mind?"

"I, uh, I was thinking along the lines of something a little more long term than a few days," Dean says, hesitant and uncertain and strained.

Sam shuts the laptop and turns all of his attention on his brother. "Dean?"

Dean reaches into his coat, pulls out a wrinkled manila envelope, and slides it over to Sam. Inside are two sets of ids—birth certificates, social security cards, the whole shebang—for Sam and Dean Remington. Sam looks through it quickly, can tell immediately it's high quality stuff, then sets it all down and asks again, "Dean?"

"I had Bobby make them up, send them here." Dean pokes at his pie some more and Sam waits him out.

"It's just, there's nothing to hunt anymore, Sam. Everything's gone and it's not coming back."

Dean chuckles then, a soft, self-depreciating huff. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm kinda sick of just driving around. I just think it's time to change things up a little, you know? Get a place, get a job, maybe a dog or something. And I know it's too risky to stay put as ourselves, so I guess I thought since we can't be Winchesters anymore, at least we can live in Winchester. That is, if it's okay with you, I mean. We can live somewhere else if you want, I won't mind, I just thought it'd be cool."

"Dean," Sam says again, a command this time instead of a question.

Even though Dean deserves to dangle a bit after springing this on Sam, for making huge decisions that affect the both of them without asking, it would be an act of needless cruelty. So when Dean finally manages to look up and make eye contact, Sam just smiles and says, "Okay. Though I think we should hold off on the dog for a while. Most apartments won't accept them."

The grin Dean gives in return is blinding.

::::

Of the two of them, Dean slips far more smoothly and completely into civilian life. Within a week he lands a job as a mechanic at a shop a couple blocks down from their two bedroom apartment. It's work his brother loves, work he's good at, but Sam knows right off the bat that it won't be enough. Dean loves saving people, loves the rush of danger, and changing someone's oil just isn't going to give him the same kind of satisfaction. So Sam does a little executive decision making of his own and signs them both up as volunteer firefighters. It turns out to be one of the best ideas of his life. The training and drills keep them active, they gain an instant circle of friends, they still get to save people, and Dean gets his adrenaline fix every time they go out on a call. After a few months they even let Dean drive the fire truck. The absolute joy his brother takes in blowing through stop lights at high speed is both wonderful and frightening to behold.

As usual, if it wasn't for Sam, things would be perfect.

At first Sam does everything right, everything he knows Dean hopes for and expects. He picks up a gig tending bar, even picks up a few girls as well, and signs up for nursing classes at the community college during the day. Other than a week of relentless mocking by Dean about Sam's new career, which results in a not so friendly sparring session that nearly has their neighbors calling the cops on them, the first month is smooth sailing.

After that though—once they've settled down, figured out their routines, and carved out some breathing room—Sam starts looking for the supernatural again. He can't help himself. Even after all this time, he can't bring himself to believe that all the evil unnatural shit is really gone, can't believe that is just that easy, not after what he did. Winchester luck doesn't run that good. There's always a gotchya somewhere. Sam would give anything to be able to just let the mystery go like Dean has and have faith that it's over, but he can't. There are too many questions and without knowing the hows and the whys of it, he can't trust that it won't somehow come undone. So he has to check, just to be safe.

Dean hates it, hates the reminders, hates Sam's fear, hates Sam's guilt. But he doesn't say anything about it, doesn't nag or hover, just frowns unhappily whenever he sees Sam circling obits or skimming some tacky supernatural site and turns away.

Sometime in their second month as citizens of Winchester, Sam finally gets the courage to ask Dean why he keeps quiet even though it's obvious he disapproves

Dean just shrugs and says, "You gotta do what you gotta do, Sam. I trust you to keep it under control and tell me anything I need to know. But honestly, man? I don't think there will ever be anything I need to know. And I hope someday you can believe that, too." Then he claps Sam on the shoulder and walks away.

Later that night, when Sam is so drunk on tequila and despair that he's seeing double, Dean appears like magic. He holds Sam's hair back while he sobs and pukes. He puts Sam to bed and rubs his back until Sam cries himself to sleep.

They never talk about it again, but Sam keeps searching. He's not quite ready to believe just yet.

::::

When Sam comes home from work that morning, there is woman sitting at the kitchen table staring into her coffee cup. Dean is leaning against the counter, arms crossed, gazing through the floor.

Generally, Sam hides in his room and turns up the music whenever Dean has female guests over, but the tension in the room is all wrong for this to be a hook-up. So instead of running off, he dumps his bag by the front door and heads into the kitchen to investigate.

"Hey, Dean," Sam says. He waits a beat for his brother to snap out of it and make introductions, but the silence just stretches out, reaching and passing the awkward threshold. He takes another look at their guest, searching for clues, and realizes she's been crying.

Really worried now—because the only explanation he can think of for a crying woman in their kitchen and a shocky Dean is that, after all this time, they've finally found a hunt—Sam grabs his brother's shoulder and shakes until Dean looks at him.

It takes a moment for Sam's presence to register, but once it does, Dean's dazed expression transforms into a dopey grin.

"I'm gonna be a dad, Sam. I'm gonna be a dad."

::::

Caroline moves into their little apartment with a minimum of fuss.

She takes Dean's room and Dean moves in with Sam. It's been over a year since they slept in the same room, let alone the same bed, but a year apart doesn't erase over twenty years of living in each other's pockets. They slide into old habits easily. There's grumbling and threats and the occasional bout of kicking, but Sam sleeps better, deeper, with Dean right there and he thinks his brother does, too.

As for Caroline, by any standards she's an excellent roommate. She's neat, military neat actually, an Air Force helicopter pilot based out of California who was only in Tennessee to visit friends when the fateful hookup occurred. And even though she is basically putting her life on hold as a favor to Dean, Caroline still insists on paying her share after her temporary transfer to the base outside of Tullahoma goes through. She doesn't pry, is polite, and mostly keeps to herself, not timid or shy, just disengaged. This isn't her life, won't be her life, and Sam can understand why she doesn't want to be too friendly. Distance will make it easier to leave when it's all over, less messy.

All in all, it's weird having her there, a little intrusive, but not bad. At least, not for the first few months. Once she starts to show though, lets Dean feel the baby kick, it all takes a half step to the right, and Sam finds himself occupying the periphery of Dean's attention for the first time in his entire life.

He suddenly has to work hard to keep a reign on his temper, spends a week grinding his teeth on insults and acerbic commentary before Sam admits to himself that he's jealous. He tries for a few days to get over it, to convince himself that it's stupid and pathetic, but all attempts to make himself react like a reasonable adult fail. So he makes himself scarce instead, picks up extra shifts at the hospital both to get out of the house and because babies are fucking expensive, comes home only to eat and sleep. Dean is so distracted by his pending fatherhood that he attributes all of Sam's bad temper to tiredness and thanks him for it besides.

Caroline, though, is not nearly as oblivious. And at about the eight month mark, she stages an ambush.

She waits for an afternoon where Dean is working and Sam is getting off a double shift, plans it so his defenses are low, bogged down by exhaustion, and so he can't retreat behind his brother. She waits until the door is shut, waits until he's dumped his stuff, waits until he's out in the open and away from the walls so he won't break anything. Then, once Sam is just where she wants him, Caroline walks right up with a friendly smile like she's going to say hello, jabs him hard in the solar plexus, and puts him on his ass with a leg sweep.

Caroline gives him moment to get a bit of his breath back, then grabs his hand and places it on her belly. For the first time, Sam feels Dean's child move.

"Do you feel that, Sam?" she asks, low and angry and determined. "That's your brother's kid, your niece or nephew in there. In about a month, that kid's gonna come screaming into the world and the thought of it makes you want to piss your pants, doesn't it? Because somehow, you got it into your stupid, stubborn head that this little baby is going to replace you. That Dean is going to be the dad and you'll just be the uncle. And in your head, uncles, they only get brought out only for the holidays. Where the fuck you got that stupid idea, I don't know, but what I do know is that you're wrong."

"You see, I've been watching you two all these months," Caroline continues, the words coming quicker now, fast and fierce. The baby shifts and turns under his palm, like she's as angry, as disappointed, as her mother. "The only reason your brother hasn't figured out that you're being a complete brat is because he thinks you walk on water. To hear Dean talk—which you wouldn't because you're never fucking here—uncle is just another word for dad. And if he ever finds out you thought differently, he'll take it as you not wanting to be a father to his kid rather than you acting like a child, and it'll break his heart. So I'm telling you, Sam, as someone who cares very much about what happens to your family even if I don't plan to be a part of it, to get the hell over yourself before you fuck things up for good."

And with that, Caroline drops his hand and walks away.

After about five minutes spent staring after her in shock, Sam hauls his pathetic, wheezing ass up off the floor and digs out his phone. He calls work and tells his boss he won't be working double shifts any more after this week. Tells her, honestly, that something more important has come up.

::::

Sam can't seem to look away from the little baby in his arms. She's just so tiny, a warm little bundle tucked against his chest. Her face is still kind of squished so it's hard to tell, but Sam thinks she might have his eyes, at least the shape of them, the weird little slant that's always just been his. Her lips, though, those are all Dean, no question. It's surreal to see bits of his brother in this new little person, but also amazing and wonderful and right.

Sam knows, then, that he is done with hunting for good now. No more scouring the obits and the tabloids, no more research trips, no more anything to do with the supernatural at all. Sam can't risk contaminating her life with it, not when she might be able to live free of the Winchester and Campbell legacy of death and blood and fear and pain. The world has moved on and, ready or not, it's time Sam did, too. The little girl in his arms deserves no less.

Dean comes out of Caroline's room and shuts the door softly behind him. Sam knows he should probably give Dean his daughter back, but now that he's finally got her in his arms, he doesn't want to let her go just yet.

His brother doesn't reach for her though, just smiles at them like they are all that is wonderful in the world. For the first time that Sam can remember, Dean seems completely at peace. Sam falls in love with the baby girl in his arms all over again, just because she can make Dean look like that.

"Her name is Abigail," Dean finally says. "Abigail Anne, after Caroline's grandmothers."

"Abigail Anne," Sam repeats slowly, exploring the feel of the syllables in his mouth. He likes it, likes the rhythm and the alliteration. It's a good name, just her own, not like Mary or Jessica would have been.

Sam looks down at the baby in his arms, Abigail now, and it's like the final piece of a puzzle sliding into place. She not just some baby any more, she's their baby, really theirs, Abigail Anne Winchester.

"Welcome to the family, Abby," he whispers and kisses her cheek.

::::

Abby's six month birthday passes without incident. She sleeps, Sam and Dean don't, and nothing unusual happens except that Sam wins at poker more times than not. He gives Dean shit about it the rest of the week, but relief puts Dean in such a good mood that all the ribbing barely gets a reaction at all.

The fire happens a month later, on the night of Abby's seventh month birthday.

They don't actually see the flames, just smoke and flashing alarms and frightened people in the hallways. Sam embarrasses himself by having a minor panic attack on the lawn in front of the guys from the station, Abby cries the entire time the fire trucks are there, and Dean glares at everyone like he hasn't in years, viciously protective and a hairs breadth away from violence.

Needless to say, it's a long night.

The next day, they're told that the source was a tipped candle in an apartment on the second floor. Sam and Dean sneak in to take their own look and the EMF meter doesn't so much as flicker. Even so, on their way back up to their own slightly smoky apartment, Dean steals a morning paper. They spread it out on the kitchen table and pull out the real estate section. Sam takes one page, Dean takes the other, and, armed with red pens, they draw circles around anything that looks promising.

It feels surprisingly good, Sam decides, hunting again, like old times, even if it's just for houses.

::::

They move into the house on April Fool's Day.

For the first time in Sam's life, the Impala is just not big enough; they have to rent a U-haul. Gary, Jim, and Brenda come to help, bribed with the promise of food and beer. They're as much of a novelty as needing a truck.

Sam sets up Abby's play pen first. Assembles it in an out of the way corner, fills it with her blankets and toys, and plops her down in it with a peck to her cheek. She spends the next few hours happily chewing on her plastic keys and watching them move in and out of the house, like they are a parade put on just for her.

Even with actual furniture to move, with the extra hands it doesn't take more than few hours. Dean orders pizza, Sam makes a quick beer run, and, after lunch, they politely kick their friends out and start setting up house.

They start with the nursery, a beautiful little room—pale green and full of sunlight—that looks nothing like Sam's old nursery in Lawrence. By the time they're done sliding drawers into dressers, hanging the mobile, and making up the crib, it's time for Abby's nap. She goes down easy, no fuss at all when they turn out the lights and walk out, but both Sam and Dean linger in the doorway watching until she falls asleep.

With their girl taken care of, they break out the salt and the sharpies and start laying down protection. It probably isn't necessary anymore—it's been years since anyone has come across a ghost or a monster or a demon or really anything supernatural at all—but neither of them will feel comfortable until it's done.

It's dark when they finish getting everything more or less unpacked, almost eight. Sam has just put Abby into her PJs when Dean drags them outside to the curb where the Impala stands guard. The porch light isn't on—doesn't have a bulb yet—but the light coming through the curtainless front windows casts a warm glow on the lawn, easily illuminating Dean as he pulls the For Sale sign out of the ground and tosses it aside.

Dean grabs the last two beers out of the front seat of the car, opens them, and passes one to Sam. "Never thought I'd see the day, but here's to being homeowners," he says.

"Here's to seeing the day," Sam counters. For a couple of years there, he really hadn't thought they would. They tap their bottle necks together and drink deep.

After thirty years of wandering, the Winchesters have finally come home.

::::

It's the perfect day, warm but not hot, and the air smells of grill smoke and cut grass and summer. Sam carefully balances the large sheet cake on one hand as he closes the patio door, the dogs looking at him mournfully from inside. He nearly drops it, though, when little arms wrap unexpectedly around his leg as he's turning around. But even after all this time, his reflexes are still good; the only damage is a few dents from his fingers in the bottom ring of frosting.

Sam looks down at the grinning little girl attached to his leg and can't resist smiling back. "Hey, munchkin. You ready to eat?"

Abby gives him a beautiful gap-toothed grin. "Cake?"

"Soon, sweetie. You want a monkey ride?"

She nods and sits on the top of his foot, presses her face into his shin, hugs his calf. Together they slowly hobble to the picnic tables under the dogwood tree, where the adults are dishing up plates for the toddlers still swarming over the swing set and sand box.

Dean is at the grill, sliding the last of the burgers, hotdogs, and chicken onto a platter. When he turns to take the food to the table, he sees them and promptly hands the plate off to a nearby parent. His smile is open and fond and empty of shadows as he jogs over.

Sam stops and tries to hand Dean the cake, but his brother ignores him and goes for the girl.

"You giving your Uncle Sammy a hard time, birthday girl?" Dean asks as he plucks Abby from Sam's leg and flips her onto his shoulders in one smooth move. She shrieks in delight and the soft warmth of contentment blooms in Sam's chest.

It really is the perfect day, filled with singing and friends and frosting, with laughter and joy and love. It's everything Sam's ever wanted and doesn't deserve. For the first time since Stanford, he allows himself to really believe that this perfect day is only the first of many stretching out before them. That maybe the Winchesters will get a happy ending after all.

::::

In the end, Sam gets his happy ending.

::::end::::


End file.
